


The Little Things

by cosmicallybrownie



Category: Satan and Me (Webcomic)
Genre: Domestic, F/M, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-06
Updated: 2016-08-06
Packaged: 2018-07-29 15:34:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7690093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cosmicallybrownie/pseuds/cosmicallybrownie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The more he’s contracted to her, the less he feels the burn of particular emotions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Little Things

Disgust twisted deep in his gut, or rather, it should have. But on this particular day there seemed to be a marked lack of disgust inside him. If he had the ability he would have opened up his gut and to find out exactly what was going on in there. He felt he hadn’t run short of disgust, just that it was on a leave of absence for a while.

His face twisted into a sneer in an attempt to conjure up some of the freely flowing disgust, but it rang empty. The sneer fell and Natalie’s smile stretched wider in response. He wondered if she counted that as his consent to watch the dumb movie she was insisting on.

One bowl of popcorn, two blankets, and three minutes of previews for movies that came out in the late 90’s later, he figured she did.

He couldn’t get comfortable in the overly soft chair. The beans inside of it shifted around every time he moved and he was tempted to dig into the fabric with his claws and empty the pathetic excuse for a seat.

Instead he placated himself by turning another page, and – oh dear, the friendly and accepting main character had been hurt by someone she trusted. How predictable. He tossed the book over his shoulder and scoffed. What did the devil have to do to get some decent literature around here?

He’d seen authors before who begged and offered their souls for the ability for words to flow from their fingertips and he was certain demons had accepted their petty offers before, yet he couldn’t find a single thing on the girl’s shelf worthy of reading. It was despicable.

However, he couldn’t bring himself to hate it, any of it. Least of all the girl. She was asleep across the room, snoring quietly despite his assurances that she snored like a chainsaw. He adjusted his position in the wretched chair once again.

It certainly wasn’t hell, and it certainly wasn’t home, but he didn’t hate it.

* * *

At her insistence, he begrudgingly turned around just in time to see her fall from the chair she was standing on, dropping the oranges she was miserably juggling and managing to hit her chin on the table and land knees first on the hard linoleum kitchen tile.

He felt the shock resonate through his teeth and jaw followed by a stronger swell of annoyance that washed over his whole body. She was on the floor, surrounded by three newly bruised oranges and his emanating irritation and the girl had the audacity to laugh.

She was folding in on herself, clutching her stomach as the giggles fought back hard against the pervasive cloud of exasperation he was breathing out. It seemed they were at a standstill, their emotions in direct conflict with each other, opposite in nature but equally intense. Before she could negotiate for neutrality, he stormed out of the kitchen. There would be easier battles to fight.

It seemed the annoyance was here to stay.

* * *

She offered him the small bird, misplaced from the nest in the branch above. She couldn’t reach the small tangle of twigs and brush the poor thing had fallen from but he hesitated to take it from her. After nudging his shoulder with her own, he unfolded his hands (he didn’t remember curling them into fists) and she deposited the bird in his shaking palms. His fingers twitched when her small hand burned with reassurance against his shoulder.

The bird was safely returned to the nest, wings intact. She told him a family belonged together and smiled. The darkness of her bedroom seemed especially heavy that evening while the girl slept.

The scars on his back burned late into the night.

* * *

Her hand brushed against his lazily and neither of them moved. The sun beamed down on the pair, half hidden by the leaves of a tree. The songs of birds rang out, punctuated by her content sighs and he wondered if paradise was a person instead of a place.

It was days like this that he felt the emptiness inside him shrink. She filled it in with slow forming cement. It sank into his lungs and filled the cracks in his soul that no one had ever thought about touching. She pressed her handprints into the wet cement and marked exactly where her touch had been.

Hell burned, but her touch felt like a candle glow, casting shadows across his face and highlighting the bruises and scars that were long healed but still ached. The pain faded with each press of her skin to old wounds. He wondered how to tell her she was a balm for his soul.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!  
> This fic and all others can be found on my tumblr account under my writing tag  
> cosmicallybrownie.tumblr.com/tagged/hot-off-the-presses


End file.
